A Funeral In My Brain
by LilyFlowerEvans
Summary: A DHr told from Harry's POV. Written in two parts. Warning: Character Death, Dark Themes.


Author Notes/Beta Credits: Thanks a million times ten to my beta lj-userFalconFalmorgan . I owe my actually finishing this story to her.

Summary: From Harry's POV. The effects of loving Hermione and finding that she loved a certain blonde Slytherin instead.

A Funeral In My Brain

**I felt a funeral in my brain**

_By Emily Dickinson_

_I felt a funeral in my brain_

_And mourners, to and fro,_

_Kept treading, treading, till it seemed_

_That sense was breaking through._

_And when they all were seated,_

_A service like a drum_

_Kept beating, beating, till I thought_

_My mind was going numb_

_And then I heard them lift a box_

_And creak across my soul_

_With those same boots of lead, again._

_Then space began to toll_

_As all the heavens were a bell,_

_And being, but an ear_

_And I and Silence some strange Race_

_Wrecked, solitary, here._

There are some things in life that you just don't want to remember and some things which you simply cannot remember. Regretfully this is a tale of the former rather than the latter, despite my deepest desires. Days and nights and weeks and months have been spent contemplating these memories. They replay, rewind, fast forward, and pause throughout my subconscious nearly every day without my consent. Once, foolishly, I tried to rid myself of them forever. I brought out my Pensieve and placed my wand to my temple, drawing out the silvery tendrils of memory that plagued me. I watched as the liquid, reminiscent of smelted platinum, swirled until my own shadowy visage came into view. I was a young boy then, only seventeen and still at Hogwarts. To my dismay, I still couldn't escape it.

I can still feel the cold stone floor beneath my feet as I hurried down that darkened corridor. It was late, much past the time that students were allowed to be out, but rules had never been able to quell my curiosity, worry, nor my foolish bravery. That night I was on a mission; a common occurrence for me. Sometimes I was out to investigate and other times I would just throw caution to the wind and take action before I even understood what was happening. This night was a combination of both.

The night had progressed uneventfully for the most part. I had been digging through my trunk, looking for a lost Potions text when I recognized a familiar battered piece of parchment. I withdrew it slowly, reverently, not having looked at it in months. Out of pure habit, I knelt on the floor and unfolded it in front of me. Reaching in my pocket, I retrieved my wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Instantly threads of ink began to run across the page. They rushed forward, twisting and turning until I was gazing at a full map of the school, complete with secret passages. Then, like stars appearing in the night sky, tiny dots cropped up over the parchment. My eyes darted sporadically through the names that labelled each dot, wondering if there might be something of interest.

Most of the students were tucked away in their four-posters, though untroubled sleep was hard to come by those days. Hogwarts, without Dumbledore presiding, was no longer viewed as a safe haven for the younger generation. Only the dauntless or pertinacious sent their children away to the magical boarding school. Without my parents there to decide for me, I chose to come to Hogwarts despite the dangers that many feared. As I saw it, the only way to be completely safe from death was to be deceased. Therefore, concern for safety was a nonentity on my priority list. At the time I had believed that I still had something I needed to attend to. As usual, the Prefects were patrolling the corridors. Their dots moved slowly between the thin parallel lines that made up the walls. Without even realizing it, I found myself searching for the Head Girl. Before long I espied her dot, motionless outside the Room of Requirement. I noticed another name nearly overlapping hers. The Head Boy was apparently at a very close proximity to her. Apprehension prickled. Outright panic struck when the pair of dots moved into a seemingly blank wall and disappeared. They had gone inside the Room of Requirement. Patrolling there was unnecessary, as its location, even its existence, was privileged knowledge.

This wouldn't have been such a problem, had this been a typical year with a proper Head Boy, but neither provision was met. Usually a Head Boy was selected for outstanding leadership abilities, accountability, integrity, honesty…This year the criteria fell well outside that realm. Wealth, influence, power, an intimidating father…Yes, not only was his father a convicted Death Eater serving a life sentence in Azkaban, but Draco himself bore the Dark Mark on his left forearm. I still hadn't worked out why he remained at school, but my instincts told me that the disgusting monster that he answered to had a nefarious hand in it.

As soon as I had realized the implications of the situation, the silvery cloth that was the invisibility cloak was in my grasp and I was out of the Portrait Hole. It seemed to take hours to reach the right floor and hours more to reach the right corridor. Just around the corner from my quarry I paused, draping the gossamer cloak over my head. I checked the map once again and found no sign that the two of them had made an exit. My breath caught in my throat so violently that I felt as if I was choking, but still I pressed on.

Across from Barnabas the Barmy, I wasted no time in opening the secret door. Pacing past three times whilst focusing all of my concentration on rescuing my friend, I grew more anxious. There was no telling what frightful sight I would come upon once I stepped through the door that had just materialised, but I knew that something was horribly wrong.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, to be cliché. So many decades later, as I languish here in my old age, I wish that something had stopped me from entering. Maybe a patrolling teacher who happened to see one of my arms flash out of the cloak; or an earthquake, the end of the world…Anything. I would give italic anything /italic to go back in time and stop myself from crossing that threshold.

Most unfortunately, nothing halted my fateful progress. But instead of the moulding dungeon I expected to find, decked out for torture and torment, I stood gaping in bewilderment at an extravagantly lush bedchamber. Why this sort of room would be necessary for whatever devious plans the Head Boy might concoct was a mystery. Moving slowly and deliberately, as to keep quiet, I ventured further in. My eyes rose up to the expansive vaulted ceilings. They were absolutely resplendent. To one side of the room I could just make out a sitting area and an enormous fireplace. Picture windows of soaring height graced the opposite wall, affording a breathtaking view of the Grounds and the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade in the distance. Straight ahead stood a mahogany bed draped in fine crushed velvet and piled with soft pillows. Everything was coloured in muted browns and greens with fine gold accents. It was like I had stepped from the dank corridors of the castle into a regal mansion. The walls were adorned with fine artwork; the floor was covered with an intricately woven rug, depicting a night sky that matched the view outside.

Even in the presence of such eloquence, I felt a sinister sense of foreboding creep up on me. Upon reaching the edge of the foyer, I peered around the corner and into the depths of the chamber and suddenly the blood in my veins turned to ice, stinging and burning under my skin.

The platinum-haired Slytherin's hands were snaked around the Head Girl's back, pulling her tightly to his chest. His face was buried somewhere in her volumes of amber hair. The muffled sound of his voice carried across the room and filled me with a rage that I had never known before. Incensed beyond sanity, I plunged forward and violently tore at the Invisibility Cloak. In one fluid movement, I cast it aside and drew my wand.

Momentary surprise flickered in his silver eyes when he found my wand aimed at his throat, but it was quickly replaced with an expression of cool indifference. My hands shook with hatred, but not enough to cause any difficulty in hexing the little ferret. His fear betrayed him, though, for he loosened his hold on her ever so slightly.

"Let her go," I grated through clenched teeth. Draco looked down and Hermione, seemingly questioning her; she returned his gaze, pleading. "Now." I let the tip of my wand graze the pale skin of his neck, just enough for it to be a threat.

"I thought you were going to tell him." His voice came out in a low growl, but there were strange tender undertones to it that unsettled me.

Strengthening my grip on my wand, I began to suspect there was something horrible going on here, even more so than what I had feared. "What do you mean?" I looked at Hermione now, hoping desperately for her to tell me that the Head Boy had gone mad. "What does he mean?" I implored.

Her eyes misted as she turned her gaze up to me. The expression on her face could be interpreted as nothing other than an apology. Still, I refused to understand. I intentionally blinded myself to the situation that unfolded before me. I had my reasons for denying it.

* * *

A few months earlier, I noticed a change slowly come over Hermione. Actually, my perception of her is what changed, though when it happened I could not see that. Before that school year, I never considered her more than a close friend. She had promised herself to Ron, though only through furtive glances when they believed that no one watched. The casual observer only witnessed their petty quarrels and incessant sniping. Eventually, the time came where she grew impatient and waiting for Ron no longer appealed to her. Through a series of very tense encounters, she cast Ron aside in search of someone who would pay her the attention she deserved.

It was then that I noticed the way she tucked strands of hair behind her ears while she studied. I noticed the gracefully gait of her walk. The curve of her hips under her grey uniform skirt. She had the tendency to bite her lower lip when she was concentrating.

For six years I had never really seen, but when I did fall, I fell hard. It wasn't the same as it had been with either Ginny or Cho. Those had been mere crushes; they had come slowly and without my notice. Hermione was not a crush. She was an infatuation and so much more. The perfect companion. I would provide the sheer dumb luck and unchecked chivalry and she would provide the logic and grounded stability.

I started watching her from the corner of my eye during class, finding the subtleties of her movements intoxicating. Rather than admiring from afar, I had the perfect vantage point. There was always an excuse to see her. There was always a reason to speak to her. No one suspected my growing obsession with my own bookish best friend. I had hoped that she might pick up on something, being the perceptive witch she was, but that was not the case.

One Friday, the day before a Hogsmeade weekend, my desperation bubbled to the surface. I cornered Hermione, on the pretext of asking an academic question, in the common room. The hour was late and the fire slowly died down into smouldering ashes. The crazed glint in my eye must have been obvious, because when I moved closer to her, she flinched involuntarily. Her name rolled from my lips, slipping out reverently as she backed into the corner of the room. I pressed against her, taking in her scent; it was a mixture of musk and the smell of parchment. "Come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow," I murmured, my eyes searching hers.

She looked away, exposing her graceful neck to me. I resisted the urge to touch its smooth skin. "I'm already going with you." Hermione referred to the fact that the Trio would be going together. "I always do," she added, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself that that was all I had meant. It was obvious that I wanted more than mere friendship from her now.

"Come with me alone. No Ron." I lowered my face until it was barely inches from hers, but paused for her reply. She squirmed under me with obvious discomfort, but I took no notice. How blind I was to not see what I was putting her through!

She turned her face up to me, fear reflected in her eyes. "Harry?" she questioned as she tremulously placed a hand on my chest. "Harry?"

I suppose the combination of our close proximity, the late hour, and the darkened room overwhelmed her. I wrapped my hand around her delicate wrist and held it down to her side as I leaned my weight on her, pinning her against the wall with realizing what I was doing.

"I've wanted you, Hermione. Only I didn't realise it until you decided that Ron was wrong for you." Unable and unwilling to stop myself, I began to trail gentle kisses along her neck. "You need someone who can care for you," I murmured in her ear. italic Why did she stiffen when I touched her/italic My free hand reached up and cupped her smooth chin, firmly tilting her head up to mine. "And I care." My lips crashed down upon hers, my tongue probing at her tightly closed mouth. She leaned into me slightly; I anticipated her kissing me back, but it never came. Instead, she pushed hard against my breastbone so that I stumbled backwards, stunned.

Staring at me in disbelief, she drew ragged breaths as a tear trickled down her cheek. "Don't treat me like a hand-me-down. I'm not some plaything to be passed between friends!" she spat. With one last icy glare, she stormed past me and up the stairs to her dormitory. I gawked after her, open-mouthed, until her copper locks disappeared around the corner. To follow her was futile, however. Her reaction had been most unexpected. It wasn't that I had thought she had feelings for me, but I hadn't counted on the intensity of her fury. It was never my intention to make her feel used, and later I found out that it wasn't entirely my fault.

Lavender Brown told me the following week, in passing, that Hermione walked in on the two of them snogging only the day before my advance, thus stirring the dormant feelings she harboured for the redhead. My timing had been most unfortunate, but I did not give up. On our next trip into Hogsmeade, I slipped away to the Apothecary and its pre-made potions. Scanning the shelves, I gasped as I found more than I had hoped for. "_Amortentia_," I breathed reverently. Lifting the warm vial gingerly off the shelf, I carried it to the register. The attending witch eyed me suspiciously but said nothing when I slapped down thirty Galleons. She snatched up the gold, favouring me with a greedy leer that revealed yellowed, crooked teeth.

I hadn't expected to find a love potion as powerful as this one, but now that I had, I felt even more eager to capture Hermione's heart. Insomnia ruled that night, no matter how long I laid still and closed my eyes. It seemed that the closer the dawn drew, the tighter the knots in my stomach constricted. Details, possibilities, scenarios…They ran through my head like a waterfall of information that I could scarcely process. By the time the stars disappeared and the first rays of morning crested over the horizon, I had what I believed to be a foolproof plan.

I floated down to the Great Hall, winding through the corridors unconsciously, feeling both elated and desperately apprehensive at once. Once, I had to stop and grasp a suit of amour to stave away a growing wave of nausea and vertigo, though I grinned all the while. I'm sure I looked a-fool entering the room with such an obvious expression on my face, but the empty Hall bore no witness against me. I made my way to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the eerie sound of my own footsteps echoing in the silence room.

As I took my place midway along the table, platters of tantalising food and huge serving bowls of porridge suddenly appeared, steaming merrily. Briefly, I wondered if I arrived at just the right time or if the morning meal appeared as the first arrival sat down. I braced my hands on the table as another swell of illness washed over me.

Dire omens disregarded, I prepared for the arrival my sweet flower. It was simple for such a significant event; I finished my work swiftly, just before the doors to the Hall opened and a group of giggling Hufflepuffs interrupted the quiet of the morning with talk about the Quidditch players they fancied. My fingers drummed noisily on the table as I tried to keep my eyes from straying excessively toward the entrance.

Fortunately for my sanity, Hermione was not the type to sleep in, even on a Sunday morning. She would have plans to be in the library spending a day with her Potions text and a well-worn quill. I, on the other had, had much grander ideas of afternoons basking in the sun, without a care to speak of. How romantic my maniacal view of a perfect world was. Hermione would soon see how it felt for her heart to leap at the sight of me, as mine did for her.

She sat down at the table with a muttered 'hello' to me, filling her plate with eggs and toast. Realizing that I would look strange sitting there with an immaculate dish, I hastily grabbed a slice of toast and took a bite. Just then, Hermione reached for her goblet and I froze in the midst of swallowing. I watched, barely able to keep from leaning forward in anticipation, until I realized that she had reached for the cup on her left, while I had prepared the one on her right. Only when she poised a pitcher of pumpkin juice, ready to pour, did I clear my throat.

"Wait," I choked, my food hardly making it down. I seized the pitcher from her, sloshing some onto the surface of the table. She blinked at me, clearly vexed with my behaviour. "I mean…" I stopped to still my shaking hands and regain what was left of my shattered composure. With no sleep and terrible fear for my plots at hand, nerves were getting the best of me. Cautiously, I picked up the goblet that I had planted the potion in and poured the cold liquid inside. "I just wanted to apologize for my behaviour," I continued. "I don't know what came over me, and I don't think of you as a plaything in any sense."

Shifting in her seat, she stared down at her hands. Akward silence hung thick in the air before I heard her sigh. "Just…I…Let's forget about it." Setting her goblet in front of her, I smiled and nodded; only glad she had been distracted by my apology. I was about to give my words of concurrence when she pointed across the hall.

"Look, it's Hedwig! The post is here." I narrowed my eyes, but gazed up at the owls streaming over the tables. Snow white feathers were easily distinguished from the earthtones of the common barn owls. Swooping past, she dropped a letter in front of me. Seeing my name written in a familiar scrawl on the front, I tucked it next to my plate.

"Only from Hagrid. Probably wants us for tea. It has been a while." I looked back at Hermione who was just putting down her cup, with considerably less juice in it. I waited for her to look at me; as I understood things, I had to be the first person that she saw, or it wouldn't take effect. To my dismay and utter horror, her eyes avoided me, seemingly intent on the eggs that she inhaled.

"Hermione, slow down. It's bad for your health to eat so quickly. You should see Dudley…" I glanced at her, nibbling on my toast and hoping to find her gazing loving at me. I wanted her to confess her love to me, to wonder why she hadn't seen how amazing we could be. I spent the meal coughing loudly, asking Hermione foolish questions, banging my silverware ridiculously onto my plate and otherwise causing people around me to wonder whether or not I was sane. Many furtive glances were directed at my behaviour, but the one glance I truly wanted…no, needed…was never bestowed on me.

Hermione drained the rest of her pumpkin juice, swung her bag over her shoulder, and stood up in one fluid movement. "I'm off to the library," she called hurriedly over her flawless shoulder before she disappeared out the door. I sat blinking despondently for mere seconds before I tore away from the table, tripping over my own feet. Feet pounding out the quick rhythm of my heart, I dashed through the corridors to the library. I pushed past a frightened young girl at the door, only to find that Hermione was not in the room. Instead, I found an angry Madam Pince looking like a bull ready to charge for my disturbance of the peace.

For the next month, I wondered incessantly what had come of that potion. Hermione had to catch sight of someone, sometime, but no relationship ever materialised. It was utterly impossible that she saw no one after taking the potion; it occurred to me that I had been swindled by the old witch. The Apothecary hadn't sold me Amortentia, but only a cheap imitation, an air freshener in disguise. Irritated, I decided to save myself the embarrassment of going back to complain, instead cutting my losses. After the breakfast incident, no more desperately brilliant ideas came to me. My overpowering feelings did not fade, but our friendship cautiously returned to what it once had been.

* * *

Every time I saw her or heard her voice, I felt a twinge; but nothing stirred me more than seeing her in Draco Malfoy's arms. Instead of pushing him away, as I wished she would, her hand slid down to intertwine with his in a reassuring gesture. "I tried. I really did. You don't know how hard it is."

He frowned down at her, though he kept the point of my wand under close watch. "I'll tell him now, as there is no choice," she added, giving his hand a squeeze. Untangling herself from him, she took a cautious step forward and placed her hand on my wand arm.

I allowed her to gently lower my arm to my side. "Harry…" Her eyes were searching me, her voice tentative and testing. "I should have told you a long time ago, but circumstances were complicated. So many factors…Draco and I have been dating for some time." Moving closer, she continued, sounding more assured of herself. "I am sorry that you had to find out this way, but I am not sorry for anything else."

I'm quite sure that my jaw hung open as this information registered. This had been the last thing I suspected when I saw them on the map. An attack, an ambush…I almost wished that he was torturing her. Anything but this. Agony struck me, spreading through my veins and out to my limbs with burning intensity. I was as if I had been Crucio'ed, yet a wand never lifted against me.

Suddenly, like hitting an invisible brick wall, an idea struck me. "Wait," I cried, gripping her shoulders. "It's alright; it can be fixed." Struggling, she pulled away from me and retreated to Draco's side. "Of course, this is entirely my fault. Forgive me; I can explain all of this. I'm sure you must have wondered why you should fall for him, the disgusting…" Hermione stared at me, looking perturbed. "You see…I slipped you a love potion, about mid-October."

I expected her to smile, to rush forward and hug me for freeing her from him, but she did not. "How dare you…No, I will not be angry. I forgave you for the potion and I will forgive you for your ignorance." She looked at me, an inexplicable emotion in her eyes. "I knew about the potion as soon as I sat down that morning. Did you not think that I, who identified it perfectly at the beginning of our sixth year, would not recognize its aroma? I knew, and when Hedwig came with your letter, I switched the goblets. Then I took care not to even glance at you so that you would have no reason to think the potion hadn't worked. I wanted to save you the humiliation of being discovered."

All I could do was stare at her in disbelief. She had known all the time that I had been wondering, not knowing… I realized that I should have known it would take a better effort on my part to capture Hermione. Apparently Draco had found the key that had eluded me. The thought that I should have known better was of no comfort, though. All my past agony seeped back through my body, mingled with regret and embarrassment. She had known all along of my foolish plots and of my wanting. My face grew hot as I stared at the two of them.

"You…" There was nothing sensible to say in that situation, so I let go of logic and reason. "Malfoy? Have you forgotten the way he treated you every year? Called you a Mudblood? The teasing, the hexing…What about me? How can you call yourself a Gryffindor and be so disloyal to your friends? This lowly snake has been after me since the beginning of our first year. Last year he nearly murdered Dumbledore. His father is a Death Eater and so is he. What are you thinking?" I spat incredulously as Draco stepped forward, his statuesque features etched with rage.

"Don't act as if you know a thing about me or my family. It appears that you hardly know Hermione, as it is, so don't pass judgement on me. You know nothing of what has happened this year." He opened his mouth as if to continue on, but my fist connected with his jaw before he made another sound. Shocked, he placed a pallid hand on his cheek where a colourful bruise was forming. Still, I was not satiated. My arm drew back menacingly with the intention of inflicting as much harm to the Slytherin as possible, but Hermione moved to stand between us, expression stoic.

She placed a hand delicately on each of our chests and looked from one vehement face to the other. "I will not have my life divided between the two of you. Harry, you have the right to be angry, but please restrain yourself. There is much you have yet to understand. Draco is right. You do not know what has happened this past year." She turned to gaze at the blonde. "Draco, try to understand an overprotective brother's hatred, if you will." His icy eyes locked onto mine, but his chin dropped in a nearly imperceptible nod. She let her arms fall, but opted to hold her place between the two of us. The heavy air that surrounded us seemed to lift, at least slightly. "Now, perhaps we should all sit down." Her gesture directed my attention to the sitting area near the fireplace, where a third chair suddenly materialized. The Head Boy and Girl both moved towards the chairs, but I stayed rooted to the spot.

"No." The word fell to the floor like a lead weight; the couple swung back around to blink at me, disbelieving. "No, Hermione. I will not listen to whatever ridiculous reasoning you are about to give me. You should never have gotten close enough to this Slytherin monster to learn anything about him, much less close enough to fall for him." My brow knit tightly and my eyes hardened like dark emeralds under my lashes. "If you did not wish for your life to be divided, you should not have wielded the knife."

With that, I turned on my heel, glancing over my shoulder only once to see my chair in front of the fireplace fade from existence.


End file.
